Finding the 'Goldilocks Zone' Is No Fairytale

In less than 24 hours, NASA will launch the Kepler science satellite to find planets just like ours in a small patch of universe not so far far away.

Scanning starlight is Kepler’s task as its camera looks for signs of Earth-like planets “like a flea on a headlight,” according to today’s article by CBS News Space Consultant (and resident Trekkie) William Harwood.

With approximately 200 billion stars in our galaxy, this might take a while, right? But no. We’ll have a report in about 3.5 Earth years.

In that time, our tax dollars at work will let us know how many planets are in the “Goldilocks Zone.” That means not too hot, not too cold, but just right. Okay, no one expects to find three bears or any porridge. There’s a limit to how far NASA can stretch a fairytale.

Where We’re Looking
The real estate we earthlings are looking at is a desirable location near "the left wing of Cygnus the Swan, midway between the stars Deneb and Vega."

I know exactly where that is . . . It’s a commuter’s dream -- between 600 and 3,000 light years away. Let’s see, at warp speed, I think that’s less than an hour and much less traffic than my current commute around the Beltway.

To quote from the article:

"The habitable zone is where we think water will be," said William Borucki, Kepler principal investigator at NASA's Ames Research Center.

"If you can find liquid water on the surface, we think we may very well find life there. So that zone is not too close to the star, because it's too hot and the water boils. Not too far away where the water's condensed and ice-covered, a planet covered with glaciers. It's the goldilocks zone, not too hot, not too cold, just right for life."

Johannes Kepler was a 17th century astronomer. He figured out the laws of planetary motion. NASA's 21st century Kepler “weighs 2,320 pounds and measures 15.3 feet from top to bottom.”

We’ll see what this new Kepler figures out . . . the amazing thing is that results come back in 2012. The end of the Mayan calendar . . . a little spooky, but we can handle it.

Searching for Signs of Intelligent Life

Wonder what it takes to pilot a spaceship / telescope to search for a planet just like ours not too, too many light years away?

Well, not exactly like ours. This one would be "inhabitable" and I assume have lots of good water. That's something in short supply on our Mother Earth . . . water.

Reading statistics on agricultural water needs the other day, I was truly stunned. Every acre of farmed land requires millions of gallons of water to produce one string bean and seven artichokes.

I guess -- if I wasn't a raging optimist -- I'd figure we're done for. The end will be a scene from a horror film with millions of us crowding the shoreline drinking sea water and Dr. Pepper until our bodies explode.

And then just in the nick of time, the telescope beams back lovely photos of cascading waterfalls and sunflowers and green trees . . . but here's the rub -- it will take us 65 years to get there. So the plan is what? A ship of kindergartners beam up and travel at warp speed arriving just in time to populate this new planet?

Enough. Read the story in the New York Times today in the science section and let me know the real plan. It's the Kepler spacecraft and it's looking for "worlds like our own."

Peace, Meredith

Rockin' Robins

A rack of robins perched in the neighbor's yard this morning. Maybe a dozen of them in the woody branches of the crape myrtle at the end of the street.

These robins were coming home fluffy and strong from their winter in Texas or Florida. I guess they don't follow the Monarchs to Mexico any more.

You could tell the robins from Texas. They were wearing little red cowboy boots and lassoing the starlings and tieing them to the fenceposts.

Well, from my rearview mirror as I backed up, those Texas robins acted like they owned the place. The Florida robins were pretending to be asleep.

I don't drive backwards on purpose, you know, I live in a cul-de-sac -- the French term for "bottom of the bag." Sometimes it feels like that around here, like we're at land's end -- no not in Cabo Land's End, in an industrial parking lot.

The PODS are here.

You know what PODS are -- white metal "rooms" half in the road, half in the sidewalk -- places where my neighbors store all the stuff that's supposed to be in their house. Yes, it's temporary --maybe a month or 6 months or a year.

The plan is each house is getting some work done -- painting or cleaning or revarnishing the floors. And the best way to do that work is have all the stuff out in a POD, leaving the actual house empty.

There is a thin promise that the POD stuff will get carried back in, and the POD returned to PODville.

Problem is the street is now a village of PODS. All but two families have one. They're the width of a car parking spot on one side; on the other side, they block everything else.

In the 1930s nobody had a POD. Everybody had sheds, and when things got bad they moved into the shed and their rich aunt moved into the main house and made them cinnamon toast on Sundays. Isn't that how it was?

Midwinter Night's Wind

In the middle of the night the wind came up and whistled through the spaces between the window and the wall next to my bed.

You've heard this sound before. A storybook banshee racing down from the tower of a dark castle towards your breezeway. She's wailing at the back door, knocking over your trash can with a force that wakes you with a start.

The clock says 4:15 am. Walt the cat stays close.

The icy keening continues as you search for your fuzzy pink robe and make your way to the window. Walt is looking too.

Nothing is there.

I switch on the lights to break the spell, but the glare is blinding. I light a candle instead. The flame shudders left and right, then disappears in waxy smoke until I light it again in a sheltered corner of the kitchen near a small window that gives me full view of the backyard as the wind jostles the floodlight near the shed.

Again, nothing but branches strewn across the frozen ground.

I'm going back to bed. Pulling the covers up, I make room for the cat and smooth the top of the blankets.

The best thing you can do is try to sleep. With my head covered in blankets, the wailing finally stops.

In the morning, the weatherman talks about the rising West Wind and the need to tie everything down that could possibly blow away in the 50-mile-per-hour gusts predicted for that afternoon.

Keats wrote "Ode to the West Wind" in the daytime, I think, but not an afternoon like this one I'm standing in, holding my hat, zipping closed my windbreaker, and refusing to raise my eyes as I walk along watching my steps one after another on the pavement.

Inauguration Day

Waking up at 6:30 in the morning on Inauguration Day was like waking up at noon on a regular day. All the good stuff was already out of reach.

The DC metro counted close to 200,000 riders by then, and they were all heading to the National Mall for a primo spot to see Barack Obama take the oath of office and become our 44th President.

If I had managed to get to the metro at 6 am, let's say, maybe I would still be standing there frozen in my boots -- but happy that I had a chance to hear the President's address, and take my place as a witness to history in the making.

Instead, I was under the covers, Walt (the cat) was purring beside me, and my room was as dark as a cave (cabo) at midnight.

I did hear Barack's address on television, and that television was about 6 miles from the Capitol Building. That's how far away Takoma Park is, or how close, depending on whether you're feeling cold just thinking about being outside for 5 hours with 2 million other tried-and-true citizens.

The Chief Justice's flub of the oath of office seemed odd for someone who is supposed to be a stickler for detail. You could tell the soon-to-be President knew the oath by heart. Oh well. The oath still counted. And the President just completed his first day on the job.

I feel better already.

P.S. This image comes from the early campaign days last spring.

Eating Healthy

You never know when a mega-crunch carrot stick or a sweet little strawberry might just save your life.

In this weather the critters that live around our deck -- the wild ones, not Scout, Walt, and Maynard G -- seem to manage with whatever drops down in the spaces between the boards.

Don't get me wrong, picnics are not high on my list when it's 20 degrees outside.

But sometimes I walk out on the deck with a cookie or an apple to scan the trees with my binoculars for a couple of minutes before my toes go numb and my hat blows off into the neighbor's yard.

And a crumb or two or an apple core makes its way to the ground. It's organic right? I don't consider it littering . . . actually I'm exercising my place in the natural scheme of things.

I guess things will be changing next week. With the Inauguration of President Barack Obama, us humans will have to act a little smarter than we have the past 8 years.

Staying inside and studying about how we'll recover from an apparent trillion-dollar deficit, might send me running back outside where the wild things are.

They can join me on January 20 as I make my way down to the National Mall to wish the new President good luck in this heroic endeavor. We have faith . . . and binoculars.

New Year, New Day

Here's to the promise of a new year . . . Resolutions? Hmm . . .

I'd like to spend a week on St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands, go to Maui for the 2009 Humpback Whale Count, and finish writing that book about Rhode Island in the 50s . . .

Oh, right, and I do have a job to go to. Luckily I enjoy that work and being part of a great team of writers and designers. It's hard to find a job you really enjoy. I'm lucky.

Did I tell you my first newsletter project was in 4th grade? Yes, you remember, The Knotty Oaker -- our school newsletter.

If I remember correctly, I was editor of that newsletter throughout 4th grade -- that was back in 1957.

A grammar school for first grade through 8th grade, the Knotty Oak School was originally constructed as a high school for kids in the Coventry area.

That same year, my dad led the new high school's baseball team to it first division championship in more than a decade. I was the team mascot and bat girl. I had a mad crush on the team's pitcher, Kenny Wilkinson, and all the cheerleaders were jealous that I got to sit on his lap before the game.

Fourth grade was my first year at Knotty Oak. Quidnick School, not far from my grandpa's place on Hazard Street, was my school for grades 1 to 3. Surviving 3rd grade with one of the Barr twins is a whole other story that includes "What Happened to Bradley Leonard Behind Miss Barr's Upright Piano." She'd step out from behind there with her ruler high in the air hissing, "Who's next?"

I guess most of us made it through 3rd grade -- skinned knees, poison ivy, schoolyard battles, losing your best baseball cards (Willie Mays). By the skin of our teeth, I figure.

On a more current subject, everybody I know is psyched for the new president.

Kate Clinton is calling all hands to participate in a "clean up" at the White House on the eve of the Inauguration on January 19, which is also Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

We're all supposed to bring "cleaning products" down to the Elipse, and then start scrubbing the old guard out and the new administration in.

Should be fun! For more information, visit Kate's Web site at KateClinton.com.